Flying
by Annie M1
Summary: Serenity needs a pilot. Set before the series begins, but utilising some of the past events from the episode, Out of Gas.


Title: "Flying "

Author: Annie M

Series: Firefly

Rating: T

Codes: Wash/Zoe, Mal

Part: This story is complete

Date: January 10th 2007

Written: July 2003

Summary: Serenity needs a pilot. Set before the series begins, but utilising some of the "past" events from the episode, "Out of Gas."

Notes: I found this story on my hard drive over a year ago, assuming it was just another unfinished story. Well, it was, but it wasn't too; anyway I liked what I'd written and basically completed a little minor editing to bring it to a close. However, for some reason I never got around to posting it before now.

Feedback, always welcome.

Thanks to HawkMoth for proofing this wayward fic back in 2006.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. No infringement intended to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, or 20th Century Fox TV. (c) Annie M, January 10th 2007.

---

Flying by Annie M 

Captain said we needed a pilot, and I couldn't exactly disagree with him.

Since Mal had laid out good money, for what in my opinion was a piece of fei-oo, we'd worked hard to clean her up. Spending days and nights scrubbing this old thing down, applying fresh paint wherever it was needed, laying traps for rats and the like who'd had a mind to making this place their own.

We'd spend days, Mal and I, just sweeping and mopping there was so much dirt and muck. I was amazed that a derelict Firefly, rotting away landside could produce so much filth. It was as if the ship had welcomed every other living thing on board between owners, offering shelter to all manner of beasts judging from the number of nests and droppings we found in those first weeks.

Serenity, Mal had called her. Had the name picked out the first time he'd shown her to me, and I grew to like it more and more, Serenity. She was bigger inside than she looked from out, and once most of the dirt had been cleared, even I couldn't deny she'd make a good transport ship, a good home.

The engine wasn't running so good so Mal went out and found an engineer, a fellow named Bester. He was young and Mal insisted that the guy was a genius with machines. I didn't bother looking at his rec's myself, took Mal's word for it, though it seemed to me the arrogant self proclaimed stud only had sex and weed on his mind most of the damn time.

Still, he got us in the air within a couple a weeks, the whole ship shuddering fit to break apart every time we left the ground.

Now Mal's a fair pilot, but he ain't been around ships all his life, flying ain't natural for him and it showed. He'd strain and he'd sweat at the helm, fighting to control every damn thing; lift off, breaking atmo, going to full power--such as it was--any kind of manoeuvring, landing.

Most times we hit dirt after Mal had been flying he could barely move his hands from around the wheel he was so tense.

So, to my thinking, a good pilot was definitely worth having.

---

I'd been on Auburn for a couple a weeks, just kicking my heels between jobs. I'd worked for Tanaka for several months, and he was a good man, but I was getting bored flying the same old milk runs. More than once I found myself asleep at the helm, not that anyone seemed to notice, but that was the point that I realised I needed a change.

When I told Tanaka I was thinking about moving on he was disappointed but wished me well, he had good connections and promised to find me a ship worthy of my demanding talents, his words, not mine.

Two weeks later, good to his word, Tanaka introduced me to Malcolm Reynolds, a captain looking for someone to pilot his Firefly class ship.

A Firefly.

Damn, I nearly said yes on the spot! Those old birds could fly forever if you had a decent mechanic, but more importantly they could really move in the right hands, and I knew straight off mine were the right hands.

Not trying to look too eager I casually agreed to follow him back to his ship and take a look around. We chatted a little on the walk there, so that I could gage what sort of work we'd be doing. I didn't want to get stuck with another follow-the-same-path supply run again, impatient as I was to sit behind a Firefly's controls.

The deal sounded vague, but anything at that point was better than "We're heading to point B from point A and back again." Besides, it wasn't as if I'd never smuggled contraband before, if that was the reality of the situation. Smuggling was always much more fun, so long as people weren't shooting at you.

Reynolds talked a lot about the ship, and how it still needed a little work here and there, and from the sounds of it, he didn't have much in the way of crew yet either, just a first mate and a mechanic--who I couldn't wait to meet.

We hit the top of Serenity's ramp and Mal introduced me to his first mate, Zoe, who'd been waiting for us. Zoe was a tall, beautiful woman who looked liked she'd been dipped in bronze, her skin practically glowing in the sunlight. I couldn't take my eyes off her, standing tall, a gun at her hip, long dark brown curly hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, smouldering dark eyes, full sensual lips and her legs were muscular and long, leading all the way up to a trim waist and… damn it, turn around.

I don't know if she noticed that I was drooling when I held out a hand to her in greeting, but instead of taking it she sternly told me to turn around. I was still in fantasy mode so I did as she asked and the next thing I knew I was being frisked, and not gently!

Zoe patted me down thoroughly from head to foot, and try as I did to enjoy it, her strong hands felt like she was checking a prize steer for abnormalities at a town fair.

"He's clean," was all she said before stepping back.

Sheepishly I turned to face them and Mal, grinning at my obvious discomfort, motioned me to follow them up to the bridge.

Oh my. Zoe's ass. God, if it meant being frisked roughly every day I could live with it, just to see her move that finery every which-a-way like it was moving now. High, firm, round.

Even if this ship is junk and can't fly, I'm taking this job.

---

After all we've been through, the captain went and lost his mind.

I trust Mal with my life, I've had to, but I'm starting to think that the war must have knocked more than few pints of blood out of him.

First Bester and now Mal had this _bài chê_ flying the ship?

I couldn't exactly put my finger on why I didn't like him, but something about him bothered me. Wash wasn't high all the time like Bester, but those ridiculous shirts he wore, the toy dinosaurs he placed all over the helm, just hours after he and Mal had agreed terms, and that thing on his lip that he kept playing with--the man must have spent his life with a travelling circus or something.

To me, nothing else could explain his oddness.

I guess he seemed to know what he was doing at the helm. Serenity had actually started to sound like a ship once he got through playing with some of the wiring and he'd explained to Bester what a manifold output drive was for.

But I just don't know what to make of him.

Every morning I headed up to the bridge he'd be there already, grinning a "good morning" at me before swivelling his chair back to the console. I actually caught him one time talking to his plastic dinosaurs. The man didn't even have the wherewithal to look embarrassed when I made my presence known either, just kept right on talking to 'em.

It's crazy to admit it, but I think he was working on introducing those plastic friends of his to me.

At chow time he swaggers into the dining room, grinning still, always finding a seat across from me and trying to make conversation. I roll my eyes and ignore him mostly. He doesn't seem to take offence, shrugging his shoulders before engaging Mal and Bester in idle chatter about comm traffic, best routes and what parts he and Bester think we still need.

But he stares all the time and he talks too much, and I can't even make out what he looks like beyond the pale skin and blonde hair because that thing on his lip is like a creature, a living thing like one of them critters we had lurking about the ship when we first boarded.

I guess I can't decide what bothers me more the man or the moustache.

---

They're a peculiar bunch really. I've been on board about month now and it's plainly obvious to me we'll never get this great old bird to fly properly unless we find ourselves a real mechanic.

I was really looking forward to meeting Bester, but he doesn't have a clue in the engine room. My own skills in that department are rudimentary at best, but even I know the difference between an axel lock and an extender.

We're getting a little work, but we can't fly too far without the need for more repairs. I'm going a little land-crazy too. I need to be flying again--really flying. Setting a course deep into the black, pulling a few Ivan's, buzzing a few moons, skipping off atmo just for the fun of it and sleeping among the stars.

I don't know if it's a miracle that we can get off the ground at all or if Bester really is a genius, but I'm sure the only trade Bester really learned was a line in hog shit that must sound like pure silk to our captain.

Serenity deserves better, I can feel it in her. There's power here and manoeuvrability waiting to be unleashed. All I can do is tell her to be patient; we'll get it out of her yet. Sometime. I hope.

I don't want to have to walk away from this job without ever having had the chance to fly her the way she was intended.

Mal's kind of strange, likable but strange. It's like he can't allow himself to be happy or something. Some days he's tense and impatient, other days he seems fairly laid back, joking around and smiling.

Maybe it was the war he and Zoe talk about sometimes. Maybe, while I was jockeying around from one job to another--hightailing it as soon as the Alliance showed up--it robbed him of something.

His senses I'm thinking.

Zoe, well there's another mystery. One I'd definitely like to explore, but the chances of that seem to get slimmer every day.

She just flat out ignores me.

At odd times I'll see her staring at me though, curling her lip or lifting one of her eyebrows, looking like she's trying to unravel a puzzle. Which is kind of funny, as I'm no mystery, what you see is what you get.

Maybe that's the problem.

---

We'd had to make a run for it on Ludlow. Turns out Mal's so-called contacts had figured on making a soap trade without any cash. Damn women had started shootin' at us, rather than pay us the three hundred in coin we'd agreed on.

Mal and I headed for cover, one large crate of perfumed soap swinging between us.

Next thing I know Serenity's buzzing the canyon we're laid low in and Wash is on the speakers threatening to blow their little outfit of hyenas back to whatever place it was they crawled out of.

I damn near pissed myself with laughter when I saw them girls run off. Mal grinned back at me, whispering through his laughter, "You ever seen moves like that?"

"He sure is full of surprises," I had to admit.

"You ought to try talking to him some," Mal advised as we jogged back to the hovering Serenity, ramp lowered enough so we could hop on easily with our load. "He's a good fellow, Zoe, and I don't mind telling you I think I did more than right by hiring him."

"I talk to him."

"Zoe, you grunt at him, you don't talk to him."

For that I dropped my end of the crate and stared hard at my captain. He didn't pay me no mind though, just started dragging the soap back into the cargo hold like I wasn't there.

Closing the ramp behind us and still watching Mal, I called up to the bridge. "Wash, we're on."

---

That extra push Wash had to give the ship put us in a little trouble soon after, and we had to land right quick to see to it.

Bester hummed and hawed over what he thought the problem was in the engine room with Mal and I made my way to sit on the bridge for a spell, expecting Wash to join them. When I got there I found him under the nav console, feet exposed and wires hanging down about him.

He looked up when I found a seat and he smiled that dopey sort of puppy-dog-looking-for-a-chow-bone thing I noticed he did with me before hiding himself away again.

After a few minutes I saw his hand reaching out, searching for something he obviously couldn't find. "Zoe, you see those wire cutters anywhere?" he asked.

"Mm-hmm." They lay a few inches out of his reach.

"Well would you mind passing them to me, please?"

I slid from my chair and knelt down beside Wash's legs, moving the cutters closer to his fingers.

"Thanks."

"Ain't the problem in the engine room?" I asked.

"No," he said while he worked some more. "I burned out the auxiliary line when I was banking us around out there. I just need to reconnect a couple of wires and--"

Sparks flew out and there was a loud pop.

_"Ai ya!"_ Wash swore.

In my role as ship's medic I felt obliged to ask, "You okay?"

Wash slid out slowly from under the console, the front of his orange flight suit and hands and face were smudged with grease and dirt.

"Occupational hazard," he muttered, shaking his fingers from the shock he must have taken.

It took me a moment to realise how close we were sitting, and for a change it didn't bother me.

"Bester's an idiot," he said after a minute of sitting and staring.

"Mm-hmm." I guess I was doing my own staring for a while there too.

"Well, okay then." Sliding back under the console Wash set to work again.

"Wash?"

"Yeah,"

"Does that thing on your lip have a name?"

"What? Oww--"

I couldn't much hide my grin when he smacked his head on the console. He slid out again, much slower this time, and rubbing his forehead he asked, "Thing on my lip?"

I pointed to it.

Wash rubbed his thumb and forefinger around his mouth and chin. "Are you referring to my marker of masculinity?" he asked, not sounding the least bit put out by my boldness.

_Marker of…._ My eyes slid down his body before working their way up again. "Oh, the moustache thing, yeah."

Giving me another of his curious smiles he said, "No, never did get around to naming it."

I found myself smiling back, enjoying his humour. Damn, but this man was full of surprises.

---

I think of my self as a large, semi-muscular man, articulate and sophisticated. Well… maybe not so much the sophisticate, but funny and confidant. Lot's of confidence, that's me.

So in my manly, very confident way I shaved off my moustache the same day Zoe made it clear she didn't like it.

I'd worn that thing for years, convinced that it would help me blend in with all the other space jockeys who plied their trade off world, and of course I knew that it added to my animal magnetism with the ladies.

Still, shaving it off made me feel kind of weird for a while as I got used to seeing my entire face again.

"Dude, where's the facial hair?"

Isn't it ironic that Bester--permanently high and cranially challenged--would be the first to comment on my changed appearance?

Life can be so cruel like that.

"I got into a fight with my stegosaurus last night. Guess who won?"

"You got whipped by a plastic dino'?" Bester laughed as I closed off the hatch to my bunk and he strolled off towards the kitchen. "Dude, you're definitely out there, man, you know. You're one strange stick-jockey."

"Speaking of strange," I called after him, "Is there any chance we'll be doing any flying today?"

"The flow compressor's shot, man," he answered, turning back to deliver the news gravely. "We'll be on the ground a few days for sure."

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Ahh, it's shiny, I just need a few parts is all. Heading out to pick 'em up after mornin' chow. Hey, dude, you want me to score you something while I'm out there?"

No, I can't say as I missed him much when Mal finally came to his senses and dumped his ass a few weeks later for Kaylee.

---

"Is that thing running?"

Being grounded was becoming a habit with Bester as our mechanic, so I found other ways to keep my brain from turning into a slushy pile of goo. I managed a few upgrades to the navigational console, purged some of the old data files, loaded coordinates to the most likely trading routes and systems--if we ever got out of this quadrant--unscrambled the Cortex monitor, rewired the internal communications from the bridge so all decks could be informed in an emergency, and tinkered with the mule, our six-wheeled ground transportation vehicle.

The mule's engine was fine, but I liked to check her fuel and water filters every so often as it had a tendency to overheat with all the dust and dirt that it picked up on any kind of extended use.

Zoe stood over my shoulder, peering into the engine with me. "It's shiny," I replied, closing the panel and wiping my hands against my pants.

"Good. I got word from the supply depot that our order's ready for pick up. I could use a hand."

"Sure."

I climbed on and Zoe rode pillion. Her hands were gentle but firm as they encircled my waist when I gunned the engine and we set off. She still didn't talk much, but I was realising that was just her way.

Zoe was to the point; spoke her mind when she had to and not much rambling in between. So whenever she did speak, in that cool and determined voice, I found that I was memorizing the pleasing timbre of her every syllable.

Spending so much time planet side Zoe and I struck up a routine of going on supply runs if Mal was busy elsewhere.

I liked going for provisions with Zoe, despite her reserved disposition she was good company and a hell of a negotiator when it came to settling up accounts. More than once I'd had to stifle a snicker while she haggled with traders. And all she'd have to do was raise an eyebrow, or brush her hand deliberately against her holstered shotgun to ensure we paid fair coin for food and equipment.

Usually.

When we reached our destination we discovered that Chang's store was under new management. Chang was lying in a pool of his own blood and the apparent new owner was renegotiating prices.

I was ready to keep on riding, but Zoe calmed me down some, whispering in my ear to stay sharp and not to worry. Dismounting the mule she stepped over Chang's body like he was a sleeping dog and walked up the small flight of steps to the open door.

Three men met her at the top, all with pistols drawn.

Hands up, Zoe slowly reached into a pocket of her tanned coat and brought out a slip of paper. "I got business here," she said tersely. "Order for Serenity."

One of the men took the note, read it, then ushered her inside, weapon still cocked. I waited nervously.

The two goons on the steps kept watch, taking turns at checking me out on the mule and scrutinising Zoe's progress beyond the depot's open doors.

I've dealt with gunplay before, but I wasn't carrying a weapon now, didn't even own one. If a situation arose I judged that I could gun the mule and drive straight at them, taking them by surprise. If I could do that and keep my head down low maybe I wouldn't get hit with a barrage of bullets.

Not a great plan, but it kept my mind off the awful mess I was making inside my own clothes, what with sweat breaking out on my brow, erupting from my arm pits, travelling like a river down my back and leaking from the palms of my hands as if I'd been doused by a hose.

I couldn't see inside the building but the impact of something falling hard caught all of our attentions. The two men on the steps bolted for the door and instead of gunning the engine I jumped off the mule. Two shots rang out and before I'd run more than a few steps towards the commotion two bodies flew back, landing at my feet.

Zoe coolly emerged from the depot, shotgun aimed in my direction. Stopping where I was I put my hands up, not knowing quite what to think.

"Wash," she called out to me. "The goods are in the back, let's start loading up."

"What happened? Are you all right? What's going on?"

Holstering her shotgun and moving to examine the two men at my feet she said evenly. "New owner tried to overcharge us. Let's move before this becomes a situation."

"Before…?" What was it now? I wondered dumbly.

"Come on, Wash, move," she said, already in motion.

I followed her blindly, grabbing and hefting the sacks she pointed out. As we loaded up a small crowd had started to gather murmuring and whispering among themselves. Securing the provisions, Zoe must have spotted someone she recognised in the small gathering. She left my side and said something to a young woman that I couldn't hear, handing over a small pouch to her Zoe returned, slipping easily onto the mule behind me.

"What's--?"

"Chang's niece. The new owner," Zoe said, as if reading my mind.

It's a hell of a thing to watch a warrior woman at work, let me tell you, and I don't mind saying that this large, semi-muscular man was in total awe of her, and a little afraid.

Zoe had taken out at least three armed men without the need of any help from me, and while my heart was hammering in my chest as we rode away, the only indication of exertion Zoe displayed was deep sigh in my ear.

God, what a spectacular woman.

---

The new mechanic, Kaylee, was a sweet thing. Young, smart and so full of life I couldn't help but smile anytime she was around. Truth to tell, she sort of reminded me of home; growing up on a ship I was used to having the sounds of laughter and conversation echoing out from every deck, and Kaylee Fry filled just about every untouched place on Serenity with her sing-song voice, her mid-summer smile and the laughter of a dozen happy children.

She hadn't even been with us for more than a week before Serenity was flying to places me and the captain hadn't seen in months. The girl was a natural wonder, knowing any ships workings just to look at it.

The change in crew perked Wash up a mite too. He wasn't smiling anymore, but sort of grinning like a lunatic, knowing that he could finally break atmo without worrying that Serenity would stall or worse when he tried a hard burn.

Wash and Kaylee bonded instantly, talking a mile a minute about what they could do to please Serenity by way of modifications, parts and such. Mal and me couldn't always follow their conversations, but we smiled at them going on so like indulgent parents over favourite kin.

I liked the change in Wash, not that I wasn't getting to like him more anyways, especially since he'd shaved. His face had a kind of sweetness to it now that I could see it, his blue eyes giving him a kind of bashful yet knowing sort of edge. He was good company, not as serious as Mal could sometimes be, but rather enjoying every moment he could and filling it with his crazy piloting stories or telling us about the toxic waste of a world where he grew up over dinner and late night conversations in the lounge or on the bridge.

Wash proved he was handy during supply runs too, knew how to keep his head in a situation--though he had a tendency to jabber on at those times, and the more I talked to him the more he made me laugh, and damn, but he could fly.

More and more I'd be out from my bunk early of a morning, knowing he'd already be up on the bridge, just so I could watch his arms twitch with the effort of steering the wheel or see his fingers fly over the console.

Some of the jobs we were pulling now meant we had to run and more 'an once I'd race up them stairs to get a look at Wash pulling a fancy move or two as he flew us to safety.

Mal didn't need to pester me no more to talk to our pilot these days either, instead he was throwing me his mean-eyed "Don't you be leaving your post" looks instead.

"Zoe, we got chores to do, _dongma_, so get back here and give me a hand. These crates don't move by themselves."

"Sir, Wash might need us on the bridge, and if we get caught those crates won't matter too much anyhow."

"Zoe."

I was already up the stairs and halfway across the catwalk when Mal called my name, stopping me in my tracks. He hadn't used such a dangerous tone with me since the war.

I turned and waited for him to catch up, wondering what awful thought must have crossed his mind; the goods we were shipping weren't that valuable.

"What is it, sir?" Mal's instincts for danger were something I'd learned never to mess with or ignore. It was one of the reasons I was still alive.

Mal stood before me, looking at me strangely, scrutinizing my appearance as if checking for fresh wounds. "Mal--?"

He bent over then, hanging on to the rail and started laughing quietly, almost to himself.

"Sir, did you get shot?" I'd seen him delirious before and this was similar.

Mal's shoulders shook and he laughed even harder. I started looking for signs of blood.

Straightening up Mal threw his head back, not laughing so much now as grinning.

"You want to tell me what's going on?" I asked.

"Are you getting sweet on Wash?" he returned, still smiling.

I felt my mouth open up but no words came out. Mal had been playing me and this was the thing he was rapidly losing bladder control over.

"Are you mocking me, Captain?" I managed, trying to sound stern.

"Hell no, Zoe, but I ain't ever seen you running to watch no man fly before."

The captain must have forgotten that I could play poker just as well as he could. "Does it bother you?"

That sort of wiped the smile off his face.

"No," he said, sounding unsure. "So long as it don't mess with ship's business," he went on slowly.

"Mm-hmm," I acknowledged. I started to walk around him, pausing before I continued my journey to the bridge to say softly in his ear, "Then get used to it, sir."

---

Sweet on Wash; well, I guess I was at that. I hadn't thought on it much although I had been checking him out, but now that I was thinking on it, I couldn't deny it had some appeal.

From what I'd seen of him I didn't think Wash had been bedding anyone since coming aboard, which thinking on it was unusual for a pilot. He treated Kaylee like a kid sister and apart from all the staring he threw my way it was hard to know if he'd even be interested in me taking him into my bed.

But did I really want to start something with him that didn't work out? It would be a shame to lose such a good pilot on account of my own needs, but we got on well enough, so maybe, even if things didn't last, it wouldn't be so hard to go on like we had.

I knew I was going in circles with this now and tried to slow it all down in my head. The feelings and reactions of folks couldn't be controlled no matter what, so I tried to focus on what I knew and what I'd learned.

War had taught me a whole mess of lessons I ain't likely to forget, but the one that I clung to the most was that I shouldn't be so afraid of losing something that I wouldn't try having it.

To my thinking, Wash was worth having.

---

End

Feedback, always welcome.


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